In the Trees
by BSparrow
Summary: He wasn't sure if he saved her or if she saved him - maybe they saved each other. Cold Mountain AU based on an idea by bullettimescully.
1. Chapter 1

It was dark under the trees, the air cold and damp on her face.

She slipped through the woods like a ghost, silently picking her way across the dying underbrush.

There had been no brilliant foliage this year, no stunning sea of crimson and gold across the mountainside. Autumn had come early and it seemed as if all the leaves had died at once, fading to brown and leaving the land barren as they fell from the trees.

It was a fitting reflection of the state of things.

Everything ached - her arms, her back, her feet, her head, her stomach, her heart. She stopped beneath one of the bare trees to catch her breath, leaning against the rough bark as the world reeled before her eyes. The gun she cradled was an unfamiliar weight and she set it down beside her, glad to be rid of it if just for a moment.

Her husband had never taught her how to use the thing and she'd had no cause to learn during her childhood. Her spoiled, pampered childhood – she remembered it now as though it belonged to someone else. It had been grand – grand dresses, grand dances, grand dinners, and the grand old home place. Her mother and father had been very grand as well, god rest their souls.

She wrapped her arms around herself to stave off the chill in the air, all too biting through the thin cotton of her worn dress. It wasn't one she was happy to wear for all it represented, not to mention the fact that the fabric was a summer weight and this most assuredly was not summer, but it was black and therefore helped her blend into the lengthening shadows as the day slipped away.

Any passing Home Guard wouldn't notice her slipping between the trees and that was what mattered. Somehow she knew that being caught out alone by those men would deliver her to fate worse than death.

But she needed food and she needed it desperately. The pangs in her midsection she could abide but today she'd made no milk for her baby. She'd been afraid this day would come but she hadn't expected it to come so soon.

As she stood there, lost in thought, a rustling in the trees behind her nearly stopped her heart. Would it be something to eat or something to fear? She wasn't prepared for either and she knew there was more to fear in these woods than there was to eat.

Dread dragged a cold finger down her spine but she forced her stiff body to turn towards the sound, grappling blindly for her gun on the ground beside her.

What she saw coming through the trees forced the air from her lungs in one great gust. The fearsome creature seemed to take notice of her at the same time she saw it and let out a great bellow that echoed through the empty woods and set her heart to pounding in her ears.

The bear was nearly twice her size and covered in fur so black it seemed to blot out the fading gray light around it. Her fingers closed around the barrel of the shotgun just as the creature opened its terrible jaws to reveal the longest, sharpest teeth she'd ever seen.

She realized quite suddenly that she'd never shot a gun in her life and wasn't ready to do so now. And then she was running blind, dodging between the trees with the useless shotgun tucked under her arm.

There was another roar from behind her, closer than she'd expected, and she cried out in terror, expecting the feel of its awful claws ripping through her at any moment.

But a gunshot rang out from somewhere above her, deafening even in the open woods.

Ears ringing and eyes swimming with frightened tears, she turned in time to see the creature fall, landing at her feet with a great thud that seemed to shake the ground beneath her.

She just stared down at it for a moment, watching its dark blood seep into the cold dirt. And then she spun around, reaching out to steady herself against the tree beside her as she searched the ridge above for the source of the gunshot; for her savior.

She half-expected, half-feared, it to be a member of the Home Guard but the man she saw above her was unfamiliar. His hair was long and filthy, his face roughened by a patchy beard. His clothing was tattered and hung in his rags from his thin frame.

As she looked at him, his eyes rose to meet hers and she was struck by the color of them – blue as a frozen river. And then he swayed on his feet, the gun falling from his hands and sliding down the ridge towards her.

She gasped, hand over her pounding heart, as he fell backwards and disappeared from her sight. Grabbing up his still-warm rifle, she tucked it under her arm with her shotgun and set her mind to clambering up the face of the ridge.

It was an ungainly endeavor, made more so by the long skirts of her dress, but the fear still running through her veins propelled her onward.

Short of breath, with dirt beneath her fingernails and palms scratched raw by the rocky earth, she approached the man with caution.

He was curled up on his side like a child, looking harmless, but she wasn't fooled by appearances these days. She took a step closer, kneeling down beside him to find he was but a crumpled shell. The bones in his face were much too prominent and his skin seemed to be stretched painfully tight across them, stained as it was by dirt and blood.

His chest appeared still, much too still for him to be breathing. She dangled her fingers, nearly numb from the cold, above his lips but felt no breath and no warmth to indicate it. But surely he couldn't already be dead. He had been on his feet not a moment ago, firing his gun with a timeliness and accuracy for which she'd always be grateful.

With another uneasy glance at the stranger's face, she leaned over and pressed her ear to his cold, dry lips.

For a moment there was nothing, but then she felt a shallow, gasping breath tingling warm against her cold flesh. It was faint but it was there – the stranger was alive.

Her hand landed on his shoulder as she straightened and, to her surprise, his eyes opened to slits and fixed on her face.

He grunted something unintelligible, his face contorted with pain at the effort of it.

"I beg your pardon?" she asked stiffly, leaning in a bit closer to hear him.

He licked his cracked lips and tried again, eyes squeezing closed as he mumbled, "You an angel?"

She sat up, rigid with surprise. But it seemed he was gone again, his mouth slack. She leaned over him once more and was relieved to find he was still breathing though he was clearly not conscious.

The earth was hard and cold under her knees, damp even through her thick skirt. She realized, with some trepidation, that she couldn't leave him here. He'd die here on the cold, wet ground and she couldn't, in good conscience, let that happen to the man who'd just saved her life.

Tugging at his arm, she found he wasn't nearly as heavy as she would have expected a man to be. No doubt the poor man was near-starving just as she was.

She set the guns down, sliding both of her arms under his and hooking them over his shoulders. She was able to sit him up and then drag him to his feet with little resistance. And once upright, he seemed inclined to stay that way though he leaned heavily on her, his head lolling forward on his shoulders.

She nearly lost him as she bent to gather up their guns, bowed under their twin weight as well as his.

She tucked them under one arm and slid the other around his waist, face warming as she felt the hard muscles and sharp ribs beneath his threadbare shirt.

Together, the staggered off through the woods. It was slow going at first, until they started down the side of the ridge that sloped gently out of the forest. Momentum was on her side and they kept a good pace, stumbling a bit as the darkness grew ever heavier around them.

"The bear," he murmured after a time, the sound of his low, gravelly voice close to her ear catching her off guard. "The…the bear."

"You killed it," she told him uncertainly, arm tightening around him.

"Gotta…gotta drag it…drag it home," he babbled, his hand bouncing limply against her chest with every step.

"You can't even walk," she told him though she wasn't sure he could even hear. "There will be no dragging of bears tonight."

He sagged against her then, his knees buckling, and she stopped to gather him up, nearly losing her grip on their guns in the process.

"Stand up," she told him, the sharpness of her tone belying the fact that she was begging. "Please. You must."

Some small conscious part of him seemed to be making an effort though he tripped over his own feet as she propelled him along.

She picked up speed as they emerged from the cover of the trees, feeling the hair on the back of her neck standing at attention. She felt as though someone, somewhere in the darkness was watching them but to her eyes, it appeared they were alone.

A field of tall grass was all that stood between her and home. It was to be planted come spring, assuming they didn't starve to death before then.

Her shoulder ached as the man swayed on his feet again and she sighed, stopping to gather him to her side once more. He was either getting heavier or she was getting weaker.

Just when she was beginning to think she'd never make it, she saw a familiar figure racing across the field to meet her. The wind picked up and the tall grass rolled in waves, flashing silver in the faint moonlight.

"Maggie!" she called out, steps faltering as she lost her grip on the man.

Without her support, he pitched forward and crumpled to the ground. Between the grass and the darkness, she lost sight of him and dropped the guns to feel around for him.

The dried stalks whipped against her face as she bent over, calling out for Maggie again.

"Carol!" Maggie gasped as she reached her. "Are you okay? I heard a shot!"

Carol cursed under her breath and then breathed a sigh of relief as her fingers finally touched warm flesh.

"If you heard the shot, I'll bet the Home Guard did too," Carol told her, wrapping her hand around the man's wrist and tugging. "Help me, Maggie."

Maggie did as she was told, dragging the man to his feet and shrugging his arm around her shoulders. Carol took up his other side and he slumped towards her, whimpering.

Carol could feel the girl's eyes on her even in the darkness.

"Who is he?" Maggie asked.

"I'll tell you when we're home," Carol told her quietly as they made their way towards the house. After a moment's consideration, she added, "He saved my life."

There was a candle glowing in the window, flickering bright in the darkness. She knew Maggie would have a fire going in the hearth and her body positively ached for the warmth it would provide.

She'd gained no food today, only another mouth she couldn't feed. But still, something told her she'd done the right thing.


	2. Chapter 2

The battlefield was empty.

The battlefield was empty but still he marched onward – to what purpose and destination, he didn't know. The pale sun was high overhead in the cloudless sky but he didn't feel its warmth. The air was cold, still and silent – no musket fire, no thunder from the cannon, and no screams of the dying.

And ahead of him it stretched on, raw dirt churned by the boots of a thousand dead men. He couldn't see them but he knew they were there all the same. Smoke still rose from the charred ground, mingling with a sharp, metallic scent he knew all too well.

His next step splashed and the smell grew stronger. Looking down, he found a puddle of crimson soaking into the black earth.

Lifting his eyes, he saw before him a whole field of blood, sucking at his boots with every step.

And suddenly, the battlefield was empty no more. The sky reddened and burned, as dark as the ground beneath his feet, and many thousands of ghosts walked alongside him. They left behind their mangled forms - twisted faces forever frozen in silent screams and torn uniforms so stained with blood he couldn't tell blue from grey.

It was clear to him that this ground on which he trod was the devils land. He was passing through hell and the flames licked at his heels, racing up his legs and across his body.

As he pushed onward, he heard a woman's voice and felt a cool hand on his forehead. And then the pale face of an angel swayed before him, stark against the bloody sky. Eyes of the clearest blue looked at him with sympathy and he wanted nothing more than to sink into their depths and stifle the flames spreading across his body before they consumed him completely.

The black skirts that swirled around her told him she was no ordinary angel – she was the angel of death.

He'd been walking for so long, walking and starving. He'd seen so much death, so much pain, that he found he was glad to shuffle off this battered and beaten mortal coil, so long as his angel took him home.

He reached for her but his arms passed right through, his fingers grasping at nothing more than the mist swirling in her place.

As he felt her cool hand on his face once more, he closed his eyes and sank into her darkness.

* * *

"He's burning up," Carol sighed.

Maggie came to stand beside her and together they frowned down at the stranger in Carol's bed, shivering even beneath her heaviest blankets. His eyes fluttered but didn't open as Carol laid the back of her hand across his forehead again. It was like touching her fingers to a hot kettle.

"It's that wound," Maggie told her, tugging the blanket down to reveal the angry looking injury to his side.

Carol ran her fingertips over the hasty, makeshift bandage and the man's head lolled to the side on the pillow, his eyes moving behind their lids. A bullet had also torn its path through the flesh and hair along the side of his head though that wound was shallower and of less concern.

They'd cleaned both wounds as best they could and there wasn't much else she could do for the man but keep him warm and let him rest.

Next to her, Maggie eyed the broad expanse of bare chest and raised her brows at Carol, a slow smile working its way across her broad mouth.

Carol shook her head and tugged the blankets up to the man's neck, warmth flooding her cheeks.

Losing interest, Maggie stomped off across the small cabin to sit by the fire, "I just don't understand why you wouldn't let me go. We'd be eating right now, you know. I've never gone hungry in my life."

"I can't expect you to do everything for me, Maggie," Carol told her, tucking the blankets carefully around the still-shivering man. "I have to learn for myself."

"You don't learn to hunt by marching off into the woods with a gun you don't know how to use."

She spun on the girl, eyes flashing, "Well, how do you learn if not by doing? Tell me that, Maggie."

Maggie stood to face her, jaw tight and hands on her hips, "You stop trying to do everything yourself and let someone teach you, you stubborn fool."

Across the room, Sophia wailed from her crib and Carol turned away, still smarting.

"Take that baby to Lori," Maggie insisted wearily, her voice softer now.

"I won't take food out of her baby's mouth," Carol told her, gathering Sophia up out of her crib and cradling her to her chest though it did nothing to stop her crying.

"She won't mind – not a bit," Maggie said. "Her husband left her better off than your no-count bastard left you."

Carol lowered her eyes, watching the fire dance and crackle in the hearth as Sophia continued to scream at the top of her little lungs.

"Oh, give her to me and I'll take her," Maggie finally snapped.

Carol turned in time to catch the movement through the window behind Maggie's head.

"Someone's here," she whispered as Maggie slipped Sophia from her arms.

Maggie turned and then looked up at Carol with wide eyes, "The Home Guard?"

"I'm sure," Carol answered, sweeping past her to yank the blankets over the man's head. "I knew they'd have heard that shot."

"What'll we do with him?" Maggie hissed, cradling Sophia with one arm as she helped Carol fluff the blankets out to hide the shape of the body resting beneath them.

Carol pushed past her, heart pounding as she threw open her chest of drawers.

By the time three ominous knocks sounded at the door, Sophia was back in her crib and Maggie was kneeling by the bed.

Carol opened the door to reveal Phillip Blake, his black coat flapping in the wind. He was soaked to the bone but smiled despite it, an expression made all the more eerie by the black patch stretched over his empty eye socket.

Beyond him she could see the rest of his boys, a pack of wolves eyeing her hungrily from atop their horses.

"Evening, Mrs. Peletier," Phillip told her in a voice that held no warmth, glancing over at Maggie where she knelt with needle in hand as if ready to mend the dress they'd laid out across the bed, "Ms. Greene."

"Mr. Blake," Carol replied coolly, lifting her chin.

"Bosie thinks he heard a shot from out this way," Phillip told her, rain coursing down his face. "Don't suppose you've heard anything?"

"No, we haven't," Carol answered stiffly. "Sophia's been rather cranky this evening."

As if on cue, Sophia whimpered from her crib and let out a soft, testy little cry.

Phillip nodded but the look in his eye was hard, "He thought he saw some people out in your field when he rode up this way just after dark – a man, he said. A man in uniform."

Carol lowered her eyes, "I don't know what you're talking about, Mr. Blake. There's been no man here."

She saw the man's dirty boots by the door at the same time Phillip did and the breath caught in her throat. When he looked up at her again, his smile was victorious.

"And who might those belong to, Mrs. Peletier?"

Chin high and jaw tight, she met his gaze without hesitation, "They're mine, Mr. Blake."

His eye narrowed to a slit and behind her, Maggie piped up, "Mine too, Mr. Blake. I mean, we both use them – when we go outside. To save our good shoes."

"They belonged to my husband, God rest his soul," Carol told him, letting her voice waver.

She prayed God wouldn't strike her dead if he knew her heart, knew how she really felt about her late husband.

Edward Peletier had gone off to the war late, delaying it until it could be delayed no more. He was dead of a fever within three months, before he ever knew she carried his child. And she hadn't been one bit sorry to see him buried. He was where he belonged for the things he'd done.

But still her stare was steady, daring Phillip Blake to contradict her – daring the man to call her a liar with her dead husband's name still hanging between them.

He gritted his teeth, looking for all the world as though he wanted to strike her. It was a look she recognized in men. But instead he took in a deep, slow breath and forced the smile back onto his face.

"You just remember, Mrs. Peletier – we're not the enemy," he told her, deep voice booming as if from the pulpit. "It's our duty to protect those left behind, those that others would harm or take advantage of. Lest you forget, there are dangerous men in these parts."

The men behind him tittered and Carol met the strange, violet eyes of Bosie Charles. Beside him was the only man who wasn't laughing, a man she'd only seen with the Home Guard once before – a tall man with close cropped hair, hard eyes, and a missing hand. It'd been lost in battle, she heard, though some said he'd taken it off himself in escaping the Yankees.

He caught her looking and gave her a quick nod, shifting in his saddle.

She looked back to Phillip and he bared his teeth to her, tipping a hat he wasn't wearing before he rejoined his men.

With one last glance at the ragtag band, she closed the door behind him and leaned against it, weak with relief.

Maggie sat down hard on the edge of the bed, face drained of blood.

"They'll be back," she told Carol, the thread-less needle falling from her fingers as she uncovered the blankets from the man's face and found him still unconscious. "Maybe not tonight but they'll be back."

Even as she told Maggie to stop her worrying, Carol knew she was right.


End file.
